day?
Evans. There is reasons and causes for it.
Page. We are come to you to do a good office, Master Parson.
Evans. Fery well; what is it?
Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having receiv’d wrong by some person, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.
Shal. I have liv’d fourscore years and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of his own respect.
Evans. What is he?
Page. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the renown’d French physician.
Evans. Got’s will, and his passion of my heart! I had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge.
Page. Why?
Evans. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen—and he is a knave besides, a cowardly knave as you would desires to be acquainted withal.
Page. I warrant you, he’s the man should fight with him.
Slen. [Aside.] O sweet Anne Page!
[Enter] Host, Caius, Rugby.
Shal. It appears so by his weapons. Keep them asunder; here comes Doctor Caius.
[Evans and Caius offer to fight.]
Page. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.
Shal. So do you, good Master Doctor.
Host. Disarm them, and let them question. Let them keep their limbs whole and hack our English.
Caius. I pray you let-a me speak a word with your ear. Vherefore vill you not meet-a me?
Evans [Aside to Caius.] Pray you use your patience in good time.
Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.
Evans [Aside to Caius.] Pray you let us not be laughing-stocks to other men’s humors. I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends. [Aloud.] I will knog your [urinals] about your knave’s cogscomb [for missing your meetings and appointments].
Caius. Diable! Jack Rugby—mine host de Jarteer—have I not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did appoint?
Evans. As I am a Christians-soul, now look you; this is the place appointed. I’ll be judgment by mine host of the Garter.
Host. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh, soul-curer and body-curer!
Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellant.
Host. Peace, I say! hear mine host of the Garter. Am I politic? Am I subtle? Am I a Machivel? Shall I lose my doctor? No, he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I lose my parson? my priest? my Sir Hugh? No, he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs. [Give me thy hand, terrestial; so.] Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have deceiv’d you both; I have directed you to wrong places. Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, [lads] of peace; follow, follow, follow.
[Exit.]
Shal. [Afore God], a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.
Slen. [Aside.] O sweet Anne Page!
[Exeunt Shallow, Slender, and Page.]
Caius. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us, ha, ha?
Evans. This is well! he has made us his vlouting-stog. I desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the host of the Garter.
Caius. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.
Evans. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.
[Exeunt.]
¶
Scene II
[Enter] Mistress Page, Robin.
Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master’s heels?
Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than follow him like a dwarf.
Mrs. Page. O, you are a flattering boy, now I see you’ll be a courtier.
[Enter] Ford.
Ford. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?
Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?
Ford. Ay, and as idle as she may hang together, for want of company. I think if your husbands were dead, you two would marry.
Mrs. Page. Be sure of that—two other husbands.
Ford. Where had you this pretty weathercock?
Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of. What do you call your knight’s name, sirrah?
Rob. Sir John Falstaff.
Ford. Sir John Falstaff!
Mrs. Page. He, he—I can never hit on ’s name. There is such a league between my goodman and he! Is your wife at home indeed?
Ford. Indeed she is.
Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her.
[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin.]
Ford. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any thinking? Sure they sleep, he hath no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty mile, as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve score. He pieces out his wive’s inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and now she’s going to my wife, and Falstaff’s boy with her. A man may hear this show’r sing in the wind. And Falstaff’s boy with her! Good plots, they are laid, and our revolted wives share damnation together. Well, I will take him, then torture my wife, pluck the borrow’d veil of modesty from the so-seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for a secure and willful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings all my neighbors shall cry aim. [Clock heard.] The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me search—there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais’d for this than mock’d; for
